Silver Tomb (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles Book 2) (14 page)

“Then Lindholm’s crates will be on their way. Maybe they are in Cairo already. I have to find a way to stop them from being loaded on board.”

“But you don’t know where the shipment of antiquities is being held,” said Petrie. “Perhaps in the museum’s basement?”

“Perhaps,” said Lazarus. “But such a valuable cargo will be well guarded. And I have a feeling that two guns will be better than one in this case.”

“Well, your request isn’t wholly outrageous,” said Katarina in the doorway to her room.

“It’s more of an offer than a request,” said Lazarus, his face frozen. “Take it or leave it.”

They had not spoken since their argument several days previous. As far as Lazarus was concerned, he would be quite happy never to speak to the Russian again. But then, he knew how good she was in a fight. In fact they complimented each other very well.

“Rubbish,” she said, seeing right through him. “You wouldn’t come to me unless you needed me. We haven’t exactly seen eye to eye over this.”

“Look, I’m offering you the chance to grab Lindholm. All I’m interested in is stopping him from reaching America.”

“And I can have him? We’re agreeing on that?”

“My mission was never to get Lindholm. In fact my agency has warned me not to touch him.”

“And you are disobeying them? Again? Tut-tut, Longman. Whatever are they to do with you?”

“What happened in Arizona is far beyond their comprehension. As far as they are concerned, I found Cibola, but no gold. So I’m clean as a whistle. Besides, you were the one who really betrayed your country. And you’re still alive.”

“Very well. What’s your plan?”

Chapter Fourteen

In which another voyage is undertaken

The crowds swarmed to the square in front of the Mohamed Ali Citadel. Built by Saladin as a defense against crusaders, the walled fortress rose up above the roofs of the city like a proud grandfather, the minarets of the alabaster-tiled mosque of Mohamed Ali Pasha piercing the azure sky.

The balloon of the
CSS
Scorpion II
was fully inflated now. The vessel strained against its guide ropes while supplies were loaded on board under the watch of grey-uniformed Confederate soldiers. Complementing this group of foreign warriors was the Egyptian army, lined up in regiments on the other side of the square in their bright blue uniforms and scarlet tarbushes.

There was a band, and pavilions had been set up in the square for the aristocracy, the Khedive and the British Agent, Evelyn Baring. Soldiers kept the crowds back, preventing any from entering the square, both as a precaution against any nationalist attacks on the Khedive and to stop any interference in the careful preparations the airship’s crew were undertaking for departure.

In a warehouse to the side of the square, Lazarus, Katarina and Petrie stared at the mass of crates bearing the Bulaq Museum’s stamp.

“I think they’re all here,” said Lazarus, looking from once case to the other. “Eleanor said that there were about a dozen. There’s at least double that here. Must be both real antiquities and Lindholm’s cargo. They can’t be planning on taking the whole lot on board. Somebody would notice. The Khedive and anybody of importance is out there watching.”

“They must be marked in some way,” said Katarina, inspecting the nearest crate.

“Here!” said Lazarus. “The corner of this one is daubed with red paint. What about yours, Katarina?”

“Blue! He’s marked out his own shipment!”

“But which is it? Red or blue?”

“We’ll have to open one of the crates and have a look.”

“Now steady on!” exclaimed Petrie. “I managed to sneak you in here through my connections in the museum. Those guards may believe that you are part of the Khedive’s team in dispatching the artifacts, but their faith in my lie may be shattered should any of them come in here and catch us prying open crates.”

“There’s no other way, Flinders,” said Lazarus. “There must be a tool about here somewhere.”

“Here,” said Katarina, seizing a crowbar and jamming the narrow end between a crate and its lid.

Petrie groaned as the lid was wrenched free with a squeal of nails. They peered inside. There was a coffin within, its surface lined with hieroglyphics. They lifted the lid off. Within was a mummy in very poor condition. Both arms were smashed and the right leg had been utterly severed. Its chest had been hacked open by some blade; the unmistakable sign of grave robbers looking for loot concealed within the bandages. Mutilations aside, it was a regular mummy with none of the mechanical attachments.

“Well, this crate was a blue one,” said Katarina. “I suppose Lindholm’s mechanicals are in the red crates.”

“Not so fast,” said Lazarus as he began to read the hieroglyphics on the lid of the coffin.

“Really, Longman,” Katarina said. “Now is not the time for a spot of Egyptology.”

Lazarus spoke through his teeth, not taking his eyes off the ancient script. “Eleanor said that Lindholm lifted many mummies from the Deir el-Bahari cache and stored them as a supply for his experiments. This could be one of them. My way of thinking is that if this coffin is not one from the museum’s collection, then it must be one of Lindholm’s.” He turned to Petrie. “Thutmose the Second. Was this fellow already the property of the museum?”

“Certainly not,” Petrie replied. “It’s the first I’ve heard that Thutmose the Second’s mummy has been discovered.”

“Then the blue crates are Lindholm’s,” Lazarus said with certainty. “He’s planning on shipping his unmodified mummies to America for further experiments.”

There came the sound of voices from the doorway to the warehouse.

“Oh, wonderful!” said Petrie. “How am I going to explain our way out of this one?”

“Go and keep them busy,” said Lazarus. “We’ll think of something.”

“For God’s sake get this mess cleared up and that lid back on the crate!” said Petrie as he hurried off. “I won’t be able to hold them up for long!”

“Well, what’s the plan?” Katarina asked. “Paint the red crates blue and the blue ones red?”

“Do you see any paint lying around?” Lazarus said. “Besides, it would take too much time. Listen, you won’t like this, but I have an idea.”

“Go on.”

“Help me lift this mummy out.”

Katarina sighed and stepped forward. They grasped the mummy around the torso and dragged it from its coffin. Its limbs were so frail that the detached leg came away, trailing bandages.

“Get that too,” Lazarus said. “We’ll need all the room we can get.”

“We?” asked Katarina. “Oh, God, I’m
really
not going to like this, am I?”

They stowed the mummy behind a wall of empty packing cases and hurried back to the empty coffin. “Hop in then,” Lazarus said.

“I don’t believe I’m doing this,” Katarina mumbled as she clambered in. She smoothed her dress around her legs to make room for Lazarus who got in after her.

“Help me with the lid,” he said.

They could hear voices coming closer. One of them was Petrie’s still valiantly trying to give them more time. They struggled with the lid, hauling it up and over them, sliding it into place in the slots allotted.

The voices of the arriving party filled the room. They listened in perfect darkness. It was intensely claustrophobic. Lazarus could feel Katarina’s hot breath on his cheek. Her body was pressed close to his, only marginally insulated by the folds of her skirt and petticoats. Her perfume was a pleasant mask to the stale age-old scents of cedar wood and bitumen and he tried not to think of the coffin’s previous occupant lying in there for centuries upon centuries.

“Why in the name of Sam Hill is one of the crates busted open?” somebody said. The voice was American and Lazarus detected the southern twang in its accent.

“There was some ah... confusion about the shipment,” said Petrie. “It was feared that the crates had been marked wrong and it was necessary to open them and check.”

“Where are your colleagues from the museum?”

“They’ve gone, sir. Satisfied that all was in order.”

“And only the one crate was opened?”

“Certainly. It was not necessary to open all of them. Just the one to check that this was the Khedive’s gift to the Confederacy. There was a danger that it had been mixed up with a different shipment destined for some other place.”

There was a long pause while the Southerner considered Petrie’s words. Lazarus bit his knuckles, willing him to accept the story. He could feel the muscles in Katarina’s body against him, tense and hard.

“Alrighty. Get this case packed up and all of the other ones marked in blue loaded aboard. We’re late as it is.”

There was the sound of footsteps walking away, and then came the slam of the lid being put back on the case and fresh nails hammered in around its edges. Then, they found themselves being lifted up into the air and carried away with a swaying gait.

It was a long walk until they were set down, and an even longer wait while the rest of the crates were loaded. They were left in the depths of an eerie stillness. Lazarus counted the seconds for at least a few minutes before he dared to open his mouth but, as usual, Katarina beat him to it.

“How long are you planning on keeping me in this packing crate?” Her voice was a hot, harsh whisper in his ear.

“Wait until we take off.”

“Christ! Why?”

“Because I intend to commandeer this airship and I want it clear of the city first should anything happen. Enough innocent people have died already because of Lindholm.”

The wait was long, hot and torturous. Outside they could hear the band strike up, first the Egyptian national anthem and then a stuttering version of ‘Dixie’ to the applause of the crowd. Muffled speeches were heard and Lazarus wondered if it was the Khedive speaking or Evelyn Baring. Eventually there appeared to be signs of movement within the airship. They felt no lift off the ground or any swaying to speak of, but the airship was so huge that the feeling of momentum was not to be expected. But the sounds of the crowd seemed to melt away as if in a dream and Lazarus got the feeling that they were rising, high, high up into the air.

“Now!” he whispered to Katarina. “Get your feet up and push!”

They jammed their feet against the lid of the coffin and thrust out with all their strength. The lid pushed against the top of the crate and slowly they could feel the nails giving way. Lazarus was already sweating in the close confines of the coffin, but the strain made him break out afresh, and he heard the blood throbbing in his ears. Finally, the lid popped free in the middle and then it was only a matter of shifting the pressure to loosen the top and bottom of the lid.

They heaved off the lids of the crate and coffin and gasped as the sweet, cool air of the cargo hold filled their lungs. Katarina was the first out, ruffling her dress and checking her revolver chambers. Lazarus got to his feet within the coffin and jammed his bowler on his head before drawing his gun.

“Couldn’t you have left that damned hat behind?” said Katarina. “We barely had enough space as it was.”

“Just because I’m hijacking an airship,” Lazarus said, “it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be dressed like a gentleman.”

The cargo hold was filled with boxes and crates but there was not a soul about. Narrow, oblong windows let in light around the edges of the hold and clouds could be seen drifting past, telling them that they were indeed up in the air on a course for the C.S.A.

“Lindholm will probably be on the bridge,” said Katarina.

“Not so fast,” said Lazarus. “There will be a ton of soldiers between us and the bridge. Our best way of getting Lindholm out is to bring down the airship.”

“Bring it down?”

“You weren’t intending to fly the thing to Moscow, were you?”

A brief look crossed Katarina’s face which suggested that she might have considered it.

“This isn’t some Interceptor-class airship like the
Santa Bella
,” he told her. “You need a crew of at least twenty to make this thing reach any destination. And I don’t fancy our chances of press-ganging the whole crew into our service. No, it has to be brought down somehow and then we can spirit Lindholm away on the desert wind after I torch each and every last one of his creations.”

“Engine room’s that way,” Katarina said, nodding behind him.

“The best way is to sabotage the helium supply if we can’t get to the controls.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” said Katarina. “The pipes usually run through the gondola.”

They moved to the opposite side of the cargo hold and opened the door to the corridor leading to the engine room. It was one with a large wheel lock like on a navy cruiser. Lazarus peered out into the corridor. There was another door up ahead, which was ajar. The corridor was lit by gas lamps. They crept up to the door and halted when they heard voices from behind it.

Peering through the gap, Lazarus could see lots of grey-uniformed men lounging around in what looked like an off-duty room. Some were playing cards while others were reading dime novels and drinking coffee from military issue tin cups.

“Some sort of guard room,” Lazarus said, backing up and motioning Katarina to do the same. “No way through there.”

“Isn’t there another way around?”

“That’s the only door leading away from the cargo hold. I think the idea is to have men between the hold and the engine room to stop plans like ours.”

“Well what now? The only other way in or out of the cargo hold is through the cargo doors.”

“Not necessarily,” said Lazarus.

Katarina groaned as she cottoned on to what he was thinking.

They headed back to the hold and Lazarus began fiddling with the screws on one of the windows. “I’m not sure what’s directly above us, but we’ll just have to chance it that most of the soldiers are on the lower decks. We can cross over and drop down into the engine room. Give me a leg up.”

The window came loose and the hold was filled with a gush of arid desert air. Using Katarina’s interlocked hands as a step, Lazarus heaved himself up and out of the window. The view below nearly made him lose his breakfast. The ramshackle suburbs of Cairo looked like a toy town on the flat, arid plains that surrounded the city. The Nile slithered below like a great green serpent, its glistening scales dotted with flies that were in fact the sails and smoke of vessels traversing its length. He could even see the pyramids at Gizah, the shadow of the colossal balloon drifting across the sands towards them like a grey ghost returning to its tomb.

Collecting his wits, he reached to grab hold of the bar ladder that was within reach of the window and led from one deck to another. He hauled the rest of his body out. His feet slipped on the window sill, and for a terrifying moment he dangled precariously above the desert, the wind whipping past and nearly taking his bowler hat off.